12 December 2012

White Horses are Overrated

For the second time in as many weeks, I was in the car this afternoon blinking back tears. I could write it off as stress, end-of-semester and holiday, maybe one of those random hormonal fluctuations I love so much, maybe lack of exercise, maybe too many sweets, maybe lots of things. But what it feels like, mostly, is that five years ago was the last time my dad was alive at Christmas, which means that coming up in January is the fifth anniversary of his death, and it's not that I'm consciously thinking about five years and calendar dates, but the subconscious picks up the cues and goes where it will when it gets the chance.

Last week, it was a stupid schmaltzy Christmas song on the radio that I don't even care about and who knows why my subconscious does… but that's not the interesting part of the story.

Today is the interesting part of the story, because I was listening to On Being and Krista Tippett was interviewing Brene Brown, who did a TED talk on shame that I might have linked to a while back. I was listening to it because I was intrigued by the TED talk but felt like it was a little superficial and I thought maybe the full hour and the interview format of On Being would toss up more satisfying cud to chew on, for lack of a better metaphor.

It's a great interview and you should listen to the whole thing, really, and I don't say that lightly knowing how busy everyone is right now (but maybe you have some crafty things to get done and need a little piped-in company, not that that's what I use podcasts for or anything… there's a transcript, too, but I think you're missing a lot that way). Anyway, it covers a bunch of broad topics around the idea of shame and vulnerability and the research that Brown has done in that area, but what caught me up short was when she talked about why she started considering men in her research when she had been dealing for years with only women.

A man came up to her at a book signing and asked why didn't she talk about men and she said because she didn't study men and he said, "We have shame, we have deep shame, but when we reach out and tell our stories, we get the emotional [bleep] beat out of us. And before you say anything about those mean fathers and those coaches and those brothers and those bully friends, my wife and three daughters, the ones who you just signed the books for, they had rather see me die on top of my white horse than have to watch me fall off."

And a little bit later in the interview Brown says, "…for men, the perception of weakness is often very shaming and... one of the things that's interesting is, I talk to men and, you know, what I heard over and over was some variation of, look, my wife, my girlfriend, whomever, they say be afraid, they tell me, you know, share your vulnerability with me, open up, but the truth is, they can't stomach it."

Immediately, as I'm listening to this, the years are dialing back at lightning speed and I'm standing in the kitchen of my parents' house, a few years into official adulthood, and my dad is standing there, too, but looking small and huddled into the corner, and I've just been informed that he is seriously struggling with extreme anxiety. I could feel his fear and I could feel the shame that came with it and I didn't know what to say or do. I know I opened up about my own struggles with depression and anxiety, which it turned out I had hidden from my parents better than I realized, and I know that I wish now I had given him a really big hug but I don't know if I did or not. But whatever it is that I said and did or didn't do, I hope to God that, as imperfect as I know it was, I did not make him feel that I couldn't stomach it, that I would rather he die on top of his white horse than have to watch him fall off.

I hope.

And I hope that he wouldn't mind me sharing this story. Actually, I can clearly imagine him chuckling and saying, "I'm dead! What do I care?" but you never quite know after a while if the loved one in your head matches the loved one who really was in every perfect detail. Still, I think even in life he would have been uncomfortable as hell about it, but might almost have said it was ok to post this anyway (especially if he knew he'd be dead!), because he was brave and he cared. And, probably because of that, his falls from the white horse in my eyes were never permanent, more like well-deserved dismounts for a little rest and recuperation. I hope he knew that, too.

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Thought provoking. Yes, we all, women and men, have deep anxiety and depression from time to time. That's what being human brings. Let's hope all of us can express that without shame. And eventually surrender and let it go. Your Dad was one of those sensitive men who was outwardly stoic. Lots of those around. That comes with a price, doesn't it?

Your dad did struggle on a few tough occasions, and probably feeling shame was part of all that. But I know he knew you understood and it meant the world to both of us when you were able to open up some. Remember that fantastic Atlantic article about Lincoln and depression that he shared with you? Depression/anxiety became another challenge that he faced and he did it, like with everything, by studying it. And not running away. You were there to talk to him as an intelligent, caring adult who had experienced the same. Your mother got the happy gene and, altho I am pretty empathetic, it was very hard for me to really understand what he was going through. And he knew that. But you COULD understand and he knew that. After the last bad bought, I don't think he felt ashamed at all. He understood it.

After losing your father, I now understand a lot more. Wisdom is hard earned.

And those "grief bursts" come a lot less frequently now, but they can blindside you. And you never know what will bring it on. That was a wonderful last Christmas together and very special. Love, Mom

We all miss him so much, particularly his incredible depths of intelligence, empathy, and compassion. This essay is a great tribute to those qualities. I feel so fortunate to have (had) him in my life.

He knew that you/we appreciated his authentic presentation of self, and he was much humbler than most white horse riders. Thank you for this beautiful, even if sad, tribute to one of the world's finest men.